Our entire first night in Berat, Albania on October 1st, 2019 was plagued by two big rats at the Airbnb. After a whole day of sleeping in at Hotel Orestiada and dealing with Airbnb, we explored this beautiful town which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. That day was filled with wonderful gestures of Albanian hospitality, and we decided to stay for the whole month as originally intended.

We booked a different Airbnb for two nights to make sure the place was clean before committing to a whole month. It’s a nice place with great views, but we never slept there because we loved Hotel Orestiada so much we couldn’t leave.

Kenric was always up by 9:45 am because breakfast stops at 10:00 am. Other than going to church on Sundays with Grandma during the five months we lived with her after Grandpa passed away, or to catch a flight, Kenric almost never willingly got up before 10:00 am.

As the travel season died down, they stopped serving breakfast as a buffet. The hotel owners, Miranda and Beqo, were usually waiting for us to come down, from the third to the second floor, so they could make our breakfast. Miranda would leap from her chair and dash into the kitchen. She really spoiled us.

We seldom saw other hotel guests because we go down so late. I chatted with a girl from Taiwan while her male companion was getting food. She didn’t have all the details about their itinerary, but she knew she would return to Taiwan from London. When her male companion told us about their plan, he said he would go back to Vancouver and she would go back to China.

I didn’t correct him because my mouth was stuffed with delicious fried dough. But really, it was because I had a feeling she wasn’t too serious about him. If she were, she would have impressed upon him the importance of not calling Taiwan “China” especially in the presence of someone who uses “Taiwan”. Maybe she did, and it was he who wasn’t that serious about her, and couldn’t be bothered to use the correct name.

One other morning, as I entered the kitchen, a young man said to me in an American accent, “I spilled.” There was orange juice splattered over some of the clean glasses, the tablecloth and the floor. “Clean it up! Your mother doesn’t work here and neither do I”, I said aloud in my head and proceeded to get a plate. He left. He and I did not have any eye contact during breakfast.

Across from that building, back on this side of the boulevard, in the shade of the trees were usually two Jehovah Witnesses ladies; it looked like they were locals. Almost every morning, two or three young Mormon missionaries in their signature short-sleeve white shirt with a tie and backpack would walk or ride their bicycles by. Christian missionaries and the Turkish government are clearly vying for the post-Communist minds in the entire Balkan region.

Our first encounter with Jehovah Witnesses in Berat was on our first day out exploring. I smiled at a little Albanian girl. A few steps later, someone called out, “Excuse me! Where are you from?” “California”, Kenric replied. “I’m from New Jersey.” The lady approached. Her unnaturally big smile told me it was related to religion. She took a brochure out of her purse and handed it to us. Kenric was about to decline when I decided take it and said “Thank you” just to be polite. After an afternoon of hospitality and grace from the locals, I thought we’d show some.

Almost every morning, a big guy wearing a baseball cap and T-shirt with the American stars-and-stripes pattern would walk his bicycle down this end of the boulevard to the other side of town. On his return trip about an hour later, there would be fewer cans of beer left in his bicycle basket. I don’t know what happened to the beer.

About 20 minutes into recess, the Snack Man would ride away, the cabinet on his bicycle carrier empty. Occasionally, a student would pick up the trash around the trash cans that other students couldn’t be bothered to dispose of properly. We also liked observing the old man who laid out only a few items on a piece of tarp for sale near the school. On rainy days, he sold umbrellas. Otherwise, he had a few stuffed toys and other things which we are pretty sure were pre-owned. We never saw him sell anything, but he usually had a few buddies hanging out with him.

The best part about people watching from that terrace is watching the older men who were usually in threes. It was October. Many of them were wearing a suit jacket and a hat. There is just something about the elderly Albanian gentlemen that we really like, especially when they graciously and gracefully place their right hand on the left side of their chest.

Initially, when our wonderful Veggie Uncle in Tirana did it, I assumed it had its roots in Islamic tradition. Muslims in Malaysia do that too, but with both hands. When Grigor, whose family is Orthodox did it, I saw that gesture as Albanian even if it was brought by the Ottoman Muslims. That’s the great thing about the people of Albania, they are first and foremost, Albanian. Things like ethnicity and religion are not important to most of them. We hope it stays that way forever and ever.

Came late October, it was time to make our way to Kotor, Montenegro to finally fulfill our promise to the sterilize as many cats as we could trap. Miranda made us a special Albanian holiday meal which really reminded us of Thanksgiving. We were really thankful for that.

The day before we left Berat, I told Kenric to text the hotel owners’ son, Remy, that we won’t be having breakfast so that we could catch an early bus. Of course, he talked me into taking an afternoon bus because he wanted to eat breakfast at Hotel Orestiada one last time. It wouldn’t be our last time because Remy agreed to let us leave some of our stuff there until our planned return in December, 2019.

P.S. I have been in a complete funk for months and simply couldn’t write. I will do my best to catch up because I’m about a year behind!